


finally // stay

by colfield



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: F/M, season one complement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:26:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24583021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colfield/pseuds/colfield
Summary: Maria falls in love with Michael in pieces. Michael falls in love with Maria all at once.
Relationships: Maria DeLuca/Michael Guerin
Comments: 9
Kudos: 18





	finally // stay

**Author's Note:**

> this is a repost from my tumblr that I wrote back in January. I just wanted on here as well. inspired by Halsey's song finally // beautiful stranger.

_finally safe for me to fall_

Maria falls in love with Michael in pieces.

It’s easier to view him in fragments, easier to break him down into individual parts than to consider the complete picture of Michael Guerin.

His curls, the way they slide and catch on her rings when she buries her fingers deep into his hair; the tiny, pleased huff of laughter he makes whenever she pulls, directing him where she wants him; the way they look against the pale yellow of her sheets, golden in early morning sunlight, dark and lush in the quiet of a late night; the one that sweeps over his left eye like an unasked question

His smell, the sweaty, unwashed boy scent of him when he comes to her in the heat of the day; the way she’ll stay on his skin for hours after he leaves her, orange and patchouli and cedarwood; the desert lingering in the folds of his elbows, the spaces of his ribs, caught in the border of his grin; it’s the scent of wild, untamed territory, of endless open possibilities, sunbaked and wind-roughened; of freedom

His fingers, long, pale, calloused from years of rough use but always soft against her skin; the careful way they slip under her clothes, peeling layers off her with the gentle awe of someone who has never had precious things; the marks they leave when he grips her waist, her wrists, her shoulders too hard; the way they move in and over her, memorizing the dips and valleys of her hips, the expanse of her thighs, the slope her back

His throat, working against words he can’t or won’t say; the warm flush that colors his skin when she embarrasses him, bashful and turned on in equal measure; the secrets she whispers into the dark shadows of his jaw, the corner of his shoulder; the pleasure-pain burn as she traces the wandering edges of his stubble with her lips and tongue; the sounds he saves there, pressed close and just for her

His brows, the triangle of worry that forms when he’s lost or scared or angry; smoothing out when she presses her lips to that same space; the way they drop when she’s done something he didn’t expect, surprised, awed, vulnerable; the way they scrunch back together when he kisses her, all of his attention in that moment

His weight, solid, immovable over her in bed; warm and wide covering her back; never caging her in, but giving her a place, somewhere steady to land; the hidden violence in his body, a muscle memory reflex to a threat, so at odds with the protective curve of his arms over her neck;

The way he says her name, annoyed and delighted, teasing and begging, as a curse or a prayer, on a gasp or a hiss; it has never sounded that way before, safe in someone else’s mouth; the same way people say _love_ or _family_ or _home_.

//

_I think you'll stay_

Michael falls in love with Maria all at once.

One moment, she’s DeLuca, maddening and terrifying, mouth pursed around his name like an insult, and the next -

It doesn’t change much, being in love with Maria DeLuca. She still makes him work for it, every inch of her a battle, never willing to cede the tiniest fraction of affection before he’s earned it. And he sees why she’s guarded and mistrustful, could never fault whatever paper-thin protection she builds around herself.

He hovers in her orbit, a desolate, lonely planet drawn in by the gravitational pull of her sun, a brilliance too sharp to look directly at. She laughs at him, whenever he says shit like that, nose wrinkling around her muttered, “you’re an idiot, Guerin,” but her eyes stay on him, smile verging on fond.

Michael never learned how to love without pain - chapters of cruelty coloring a story across his skin, a deep, jagged void of abandonment in his chest, the restless itch of a lost boy with no home.

But Maria grew up loved and sheltered, with the privilege of boldness and a mother who taught her strength in kindness and self-worth. Maria stays, preserving the memory of forgotten girl while everyone around her moves on. Maria leaves a sign flashing every night, to light the way for the wandering and wary. Maria tells him, _fix the broken thing_ so he tries.

Her apartment is a tiny, cluttered, mismatched collection of unwanted and lost treasures. It’s the sort of place that Isobel would hate, face twisted up with a sneer of _tacky_. But Michael can’t help but be charmed by it all, so unabashedly Maria. It’s lived-in, comfortable, the way he imagines a home is supposed to feel. She takes him bed, spreads him out on her colorful sheets, kisses him slow and deep, like they’ve all the time in the world to do just this, and he feels like one of her forgotten treasures, some broken, unloved thing she found and saw worth in. She rolls her eyes at him, teases him until he’s blushing and ducking his head into her neck, presses her lips to his and steals the words right out of his head.

After, she lights a joint with a wink, mascara a dark smear across the crest of her cheek, hair a mess of knots from his hands. The room is lit in a soft glow, and she hums a mindless tune, passing the joint lazily to him. She stretches with a satisfied noise, her naked weight shifting along his bare side as he inhales too sharply.

“What do you want for breakfast? I’m thinking pancakes,” she narrows her eyes at him, considering, taking the joint back with nimble fingers, “can you cook, Guerin?”

Michael blinks, caught in the way she breathes deep, in the presumption of the next morning. “You want me to stay?” His voice is reedy, thin from the smoke and sex.

Maria shrugs, grins like she’s got a secret. Something in him settles.

He steals the joint away, laughing over her protests, and kisses the argument off her lips.

Nothing about Maria DeLuca is easy, but loving her is the easiest thing he’s ever done.


End file.
